If you're having a bad day...

I may be able to help you feel better.

I just washed Avery's diaper.

You might be thinking to yourself now: That's great!  She is so green.  

But those of you who know me in real life are laughing because you know I mean a Pamper's Baby Dry not a cloth one actually fit for the washing machine.  Uh, gross.  At least it wasn't a dirty diaper.

And sometimes I even have to dress like this to go to our laundry room:

So next time you're feeling sorry for yourself that the laundry has taken over your life (please say I'm not the only one who feels like this!), be thankful that your dryer is located next to your washing machine, inside your house and that you've probably never washed a diaper on accident before. :)

But on a positive note, recently two of my close friends in Edinburgh characterized me as an organized person.  Again, if you know me well, you're laughing, well actually maybe you're not since I managed to fool my other friends.  Maybe this isn't a positive after all since apparently I am able to keep up some sort of organizational facade.
So in the interest of full disclosure:

This is what my desk looks like this very minute.
(And it actually looks better than it usually does.)

though I am in full time spring cleaning/get your act together/ProjectOrganizeYourEntireLife mode.  And well, baby steps.

I got inspired by this:

Our pantry/hall closet...yikes! (Mel, those are your chocolate chips!)

And this post.

I was surprised when reading the comments that many readers were overwhelmed by the fact that this woman seemed to pull off all of the feats she mentioned.  I was actually really disappointed that she hadn't - I need someone to show me it's possible!  So I was even more inspired by this post.

So I am currently in the middle of organizing my whole life and will get back to you on my progress...

Happy Tuesday!!

A dozen reasons my husband loves Pioneer Woman...

Those, my friends, are 12 Hot Roast Beef sandwiches thankyouverymuch.  

I struggle with staying on top of Taylor's lunch.  Bless him, he doesn't complain about it, and has spent many a night quietly slapping together PB&Js for himself because he knows I'll forget in the morning.  We all have different things that make us feel loved and his is not having to put together his own lunch for school.  That should be easy...right?  But for some reason I just could not get it together.  So I spent a little time reflecting on why.  The main reason is I am not a fan of sandwiches unless they've been made for me at Jimmy Johns or Quizos or even Subway.  I abhor touching sandwich meat.  Not to mention it's almost impossible to find quality meat here that isn't processed to death and not worth eating in the first place.  And even though it's processed within an inch of it's life, it still goes bad so fast which is why each package comes with about 2 slices in it, so I'm constantly feeling like I have to buy it. And we all know how great my memory is...

So when I saw this post by Pioneer Woman, I got inspired.  Went to Costco, bought a huge thing of roast beef, sliced cheese, and wholemeal baps (sandwich rolls similar to hamburger buns but softer), made the dressing and voila! In 20 minutes I had prepared Taylor's lunch for 2 weeks.  All he has to do is grab one or two out of the freezer on his way out the door (but you know since I was so proud of myself, I actually remembered to pack them up for him along with some fruit and veggie straws...hopefully this will last!).

Now, I liked the idea of these for my lunch too.  I LOVE roast beef and the sauce sounded amazing except for the mayo which I pretty much will not eat.  It's sad because if you made it for me and didn't tell me it had mayo in it, I'd happily eat it...ignorance is bliss and all.  But since I made it and I know there is mayo in it, I just can't do it.  I know, I'm neurotic.  So I made 4 extra and substituted French wholegrain mustard (not sure if you can get this in the States - it's similar to dijon in kick but not in texture) and I am eating one as I type.  Actually that is a lie.  I stopped typing so I could scarf it down.

Anyone else have any good lunch ideas?

St. Patrick's Day

2012:

one day old!

2013:

Time flies!

Seth's First Day of "School"

**Part of the "this actually happened a few months ago series"...

I can't believe it, but my baby had his first day of "school" today (mother's day out).

I didn't know what to expect, but I knew it was time.  As much as I hate change and don't like to think of him not being my little buddy during Avery's morning nap time, I knew it was best for him.  I wondered if he'd cry when I left, I prayed he wouldn't feel abandoned. I truly didn't know what to expect.

Every week when we go to baby and toddler group (basically the same thing as "school" but the moms stay), he says, "Mommy, we're going to brown church today not red church." By this he means baby and toddler group (with mom) not Sunday school (without mom).  Our church has wooden floors in the baby and toddler group room and red carpet in his Sunday school room.  I love his mind.

Every week he clings and cries when it's time to drop him off at Sunday school.  I am always hurried out the door by a Sunday school teacher while being promised that he'll be fine.  I wait outside the classroom door until he stops crying.  Once I am out of sight, he stops and looks for the nearest car to play with.  One of his teachers has picked up on this affinity and comes prepared almost eradicating the crying though not completely.  For the few seconds it takes to walk him through the door, kiss his cheek, and leave the room, the crying still happens.

Would he do this at mother's day out?  Could I leave him there with teachers who don't know about his car attachment?  Will they listen to his orations about cars and trucks? Will they help him name the new ones?  Will they watch him closely on the playground making sure the other kids are kind and that he's not trying to climb to the highest height of the jungle gym?

I know 2 1/2 hours apart isn't long, but I'm used to having him by my side "helping" or under my feet playing with his cars.  It's hard.

I bravely take him to his classroom and re-introduce him to his teacher.  After a quick nod he races to the cars and trucks corner and beams up at me, "Mommy, they have Scoop!"  he clutches the backhoe loader from Bob the Builder to his chest and then is hard at play.  I juggle paper work with one hand while shifting Avery on my hip finally getting everything to the head teacher.  By now, Seth is deep in play and hasn't looked for me.  I ask a teacher if I should tell him goodbye.  I want to, but I don't want to make it harder for him.  They tell me either way is fine, so I bend down to kiss his cheek, "Mommy is going to put Avery down for her nap Seppy, but I'll be back soon to get you.  Have fun with the other kids Baby."

"Bye Mama." He replies getting back to his trucks.

No crying - praise the Lord - and a great report when I picked him up.  When we got home, all he wanted was for me to hold him in my lap.  I asked him about "school" and he told me all about the trucks and his snack ("milk, crackers, and cheese, but I didn't eat it because I don't like cheese, and bell-y peppers (thanks Goofy)."

First Day of School

Avery's 4th month

Thanks for all of the potty training encouragement yesterday.  I actually wrote that post about 2 weeks ago - I hope that doesn't make me seem not genuine.  I promise it's only because I am disorganized...

Here is a photo of my desk for proof:

Also proof of my lack of photography skills...post on that to come 

I had almost finished writing it, but then waited to post till I got permission from Taylor the person I mentioned in the post, and before I knew it, I was sidetracked by something else that needed to be done. (Squirrel! Anyone?) However, we're doing much better now on the potty training front: moved back to the froggy potty and put him on a schedule like you mentioned, Heidi, and it seems to be working.  Hoping to move from pull ups at bedtime very soon...if I can muster up the courage to possibly have to change sheets in the middle of the night.

Seth has gotten the spotlight a lot lately, so I wanted to write a post about Avery.  She is the easiest most laid back baby on the planet, and I am so thankful for this bundle of joy.  Taylor and I joke about how this age (anywhere between 10-18 months) is so beguiling - it must be the Lord's plan for keeping the population growing.  They hit 12 months and everything gets a little easier: they are sturdier, stinkin' cute, and so squeezable that you start thinking, we could do this again...



No, I am not making an announcement here.


So carrying on with the theme of posts I wrote a while ago and am just now getting around to posting (or maybe I should say should have written in this case). I give you Avery's 4 month photos. Obviously I am way behind on my month-to-month posts since Avery is 12 months on Saturday. If you've been here long enough, you know it's how I roll.

4 month milestones (if I can remember that far back):

first trip to the highlands
sleeping through the night again (thank goodness)
says "dada" - 4 months and already talking, I am in trouble

My first night in our new flat, and Seth's first night in his big boy bed...I'm not sure how I feel about this

I love Daddy - he shares my affinity for pink

Cousin Caroline comes to Edinburgh

Aunt Susu!

My first trip to the beach...I was really impressed

With Lils

beach in Gairloch - my first trip to the highlands

My first hike - Poolewe, Scotland

Beach at Mellon Udrigle

Applecross, Scotland

Eilean Donan - my first castle visit

 

Castles wear me out

Happy girl!

4 month photos by Sarah:

Potty Training isn't for Sissies

Potty training is about to kill me.

And no, not because I've been trying for a year.  My grand plan at starting at 18 months was quickly punted when I realized that being 7 months pregnant and potty training didn't go together...at least not when the potty trainer is me.  I began again, half-heartedly when he turned 27 months.  He was kind of interested.  Went on the froggy potty a couple of times, but I didn't feel like he was committed enough and I didn't want to play the, "do you have to go potty now?" 20 times a day game.

At 2 1/2 he seemed to be ready.  We stayed home for a week in our kitchen since it's the only place in our flat that doesn't have carpet, and by Friday, he had it down.  I didn't even have to ask if he had to go, he'd tell me. Being confined to the kitchen drove us (me!) completely stir crazy which led to testing if he could handle it when we left the house.  He could!  It was great!  I was so proud! He even transitioned to the big potty easily!

I thought we had it down.  But for the past 36 hours, he's gone in the potty once.  Once people.  He has one pair or clean trousers left.  What has happened?!

When I ask him why he didn't tell Mommy he had to go he says, "I wanted to play."

Apparently someone else in our family (who will remain nameless) had similar tendencies. Yay for me!

So what do I do?  Take his cars away? Give him candy again for going on the potty?  Let him go back to the froggy potty?

Help. Me.

Seth and two of his loves: his cars and peanut butter "swamwiches"

Seth and his other love...Mickey Mouse

The Fantastic Mr. Fox

One thing I love about living in Britain is that we have a fox that lives in our garden in the winter.  The first time I saw him was early December our first year here (2010).  It snowed the day after Thanksgiving and didn't stop until the new year.  I remember one night sitting at the window sill after Seth's dream feed around 11:30 pm;  Taylor was already asleep and I knew I should head to bed, but the snow had started falling again and this Texas girl was riveted.

The garden was pure white from the steady snow fall we had gotten before and the new snow falling with the black night sky in the background was breathtaking.  It was one of those perfect moments where I didn't feel like I needed to grab my camera, or wake Taylor up to enjoy it with me, but I just reveled in it with the Lord.  And to top it off, He had Mr. Fox run through the white snow.  I felt like God was painting a children's story book right there in real life just for me.   It was so beautiful and ever after that encounter I was endeared to that little fox.  Every night up until we left Edinburgh to head back to Texas for Christmas, I looked for Mr. Fox and spotted him from time to time.

The next winter it was much milder.  We only experienced snowfall two different times, and it never stuck, but Mr. Fox was still around. I didn't see him as often now that Seth was down for bed for good by 7, but when I happened to see him, it made me love Edinburgh and our sweet flat and garden so much more.

Winter passed and Avery was born the next spring.  We experienced a gloriously hot summer in Houston, and when we returned, enjoyed meeting the new families that had moved into our flat complex before the school year started.  The new girls, like all of us when we were new,  had lots of questions about the city and about living in our housing unit.  Mr. Fox of course was mentioned as a highlight of living where we do, but the mice?  Not so much.  Their eyes lit up at the idea of the neighborhood fox, and I got excited about seeing him again this winter.  Someone who has lived here longer than us even knew the story of how Mr. Fox came to reside in our community garden.  It was a sad tale of losing his mate and coming to look for her here each winter.  (That may not actually be the story but that is how I remember it - don't burst my bubble, mkay?)

September went by and October came and I had forgotten about Mr. Fox until last Saturday night. (I'm pretty sure I wrote this in early November and am just now posting it (in case you were wondering).)

Taylor was working after we got the kids down, and I was feeling magnanimous and offered to take the trash out.  You may not realize this, but y'all.  That is a big deal.  I was brought up to think the trash was a man's chore.  Taylor was not brought up this way.  It's not usually a point of contention in our marriage because he just takes care of it, but this particular night he had a lot to do, and I didn't...so I offered.  I needed to go outside to our laundry room to pick up our laundry anyway, so of course I could do it.

Never again.

I had forgotten about the one other time I had taken out the trash since we lived here.  I would soon remember why I had only done it one other time in two years.  And this time gave me a second reason to never offer again.

So I throw on my wellies even though it wasn't raining because they were by the front door.  I grab my keys and start heading downstairs.  Head back up the stairs because I had forgot to bring the trash - story of my forgetful life. Taylor teasingly reminds me to take the laundry room keys, and I halfway tease him to send out a search party if I don't come back in ten minutes.  I know, I'm neurotic.

I head back down making a game plan in my head.  "Take trash first so you don't have to take the trash into the laundry room or the laundry to the trash bins."  But even though I processed this steps before I reach the ground floor of our stairwell, autopilot takes over, and I head out the back door towards the laundry room instead of the front door towards the trash bins.

I realize this as I awkwardly try to open the laundry room door whilst juggling the two full, heavy trash bags (which are made of ridiculously thin plastic and tear easily.  This is not a minor detail.).  I recall my previous logic and look around to see if anybody had left their stairwell door open so I can take a shortcut to the trash bins instead of having to walk out through our building's main entrance which also happens to be outside and not really on the way to the trash bins.

The stairwell doors were all (not surprisingly) closed at 9pm at night.

So I heave my trash bags up the stairs and out the main entrance of our complex (remember this is all outside).  This leads me to a narrow pathway between the main road and steep stairs back down to the sidewalk that lead to where the trash bins are. At this point I am kind of on edge because it's getting late, it's really dark, and let's be serious I am a total wuss.  All of a sudden something flashes by on the sidewalk at the bottom of the stairs (you know, where I am about to walk), scaring me half to death because I startle easily.  I'm now feeling sympathy for Mrs. Bennet because "oh my nerves!" and then it registers that the thing that just zoomed by me was not a neighbourhood kid on a scooter, but you guessed it.

Mr. Fox.

I quickly realize that I am only endeared to him when he is outside my window, not when I am outside by myself wrestling oversized trash bags that are threatening to split open at any time.

I must have yelped when he ran by because he stops in his tracks and looks curiously back at me.  And he is way too close for comfort.  The theme song to Peter and the Wolf starts playing in my head.  I have half a mind to heave the trash bags back up the stairs to our flat and call it a night, but realize I'd basically have to walk right by the trash bins anyway to get back to my flat, and I'm not that lazy.

I throw caution to the wind and bang the trash bags on the ground hoping to scare him away without causing my bags to tear and leave rubbish all over the path. Thankfully this works on both accounts, and he promptly runs out of sight in the opposite direction from me.  I take this opportunity to book it to the trash bins looking behind me and banging the trash bags on the ground intermittently (think The Parent Trap).  I'm sure some of my neighbors got a kick out of this ridiculous sight.

I finally make it to the trash bins, and Mr. Fox hasn't followed me as far as I can tell - he's clearly scared out of his mind by the crazy girl awkwardly trying to run in wellies while banging trash bags on the pavement.  It's a total miracle they didn't tear in the process.  I stand in front of the looming trash bins and quickly remember why I never take out the trash.  The trash bin area has no lights and backs up to a wild and overgrown part of our complex and well...

Physics.

I am short.

The trash cans are tall.

I am weak.

The trash bins have ridiculously heavy lids.

The trash bags are really heavy.

Did I mention I am short and weak?

And to add insult to injury I am most likely being stalked by a fox.  And let's not forget I'm a germophobe to boot.

So picture me blindly trying to swing these heavy trash bags high enough to get them up and into the bins while also trying to watch my back for impending fox pounce.  This is a very inefficient way of getting big heavy trash bags into tall unlit trash bins.  I finally get the first bag high enough and realize I forgot to open the lid as it comes crashing to a halt on the top of the bin.  Brilliant.

I contemplate leaving it there, but realize the fox and other wild animals would probably have a heyday ripping it open and eating the contents making a huge mess in our car park.  Not to mention revealing whatever recyclable items we accidentally threw away.  Oh the shame!

Grimacing as I think about all of the germs I am getting on my hands, I try to swing open the lid while still holding onto the other trash bag with my other hand.  Did I mention I wasn't good at physics?

The lid finally bangs open undoubtedly waking all neighborhood children within a half mile radius.  Then it takes me about four failed attempts to swing the trash bag up high enough to get it in the bin all the while frantically looking over my shoulder for the fox to reappear.  He doesn't.  I get the other bag into the bin about as quickly as the first, slam the lid shut and high tail it back to my front door.  It dawns on me that I've not picked up my laundry, but that thought is dismissed immediately and I run up my stairs.  I walk in the door and Taylor jokes, "What happened to you?  I was about to send out a search party!"

"Oh nothing.  I just remembered why I never take out the trash."